


It Stopped Being a Question of Do We Love (and It Started Being a Question of How Do We Love)

by xylarias



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylarias/pseuds/xylarias
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	It Stopped Being a Question of Do We Love (and It Started Being a Question of How Do We Love)

Something's wrong with Harrison today, Vincent can tell. He's lost in his own thoughts, and he's barely said a word. He's been looking at his cup of coffee and stirring it with his spoon for five minutes, at least. Vincent is concerned about him. 

"Harrison," Vincent says, laying his hand on Harrison's unoccupied one. Harrison quickly draws it away. Vincent frowns. "Harrison, darling, look at me. Please." Harrison does, and Vincent is taken aback by how _tired_ he looks. Like he hasn't slept at all. His hair is messy and his socks are mismatched, and he hasn't touched his food. "My dove," Vincent begins, concerned, "what is it?"

Harrison sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm fine," he murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee which, Vincent guesses, has already turned cold. "Just tired," he says unconvincingly. "Didn't sleep much," he adds. Vincent knits his brows.

"I can see that," Vincent states worriedly, fidgeting with his necklace. "But why? Is there a reason you can't sleep well, or–"

"I don't think I can do this anymore." Vincent's heart sinks. Harrison cannot possibly mean what Vincent thinks he means.

"Do what?" Vincent asks, dreading the answer with every second that passes. A kind of coldness embraces him. Harrison gestures vaguely between the two of them.

"This," Harrison explains. "All of this, whatever _this_ is." The coldness embracing Vincent doesn't thaw, but instead freezes every part of his body, making him nearly unable to move. He sets his half-empty cup on the table, clinging onto it, knuckles white.

Vincent is speechless. "You're... You're breaking up with me?" Saying that out loud, albeit quietly, makes the situation a lot worse. "After two years?" Harrison shrugs, then nods.

"Vincent," Harrison says. "I'm going to be 40 in _one year_. I don't have a family. Not even a girlfriend. I'm not some successful businessman traveling the world." He exhales. "The other day at work, do you know what happened?" Vincent forces himself to shake his head.

"A colleague of mine asked me why I didn't have a lady at my side yet." Harrison taps his foot against the floor. "And for a moment, I thought he knew," he says, despaired. "About me. About us. I almost told him." Harrison is trembling. "Then he just–" Harrison swallows – "laughed it off and said that I shouldn't worry, that I was going to find a wife someday." He shakes his head, sighing. "Do you realize what would've happened if I'd told him?"

Vincent inhales, staring at the ring on his left hand's ring finger. He nods once. "Catastrophe." It hurts, but it's the truth. And he can't deny it. He buries his face in his hands. "We can just keep quiet about it. Right?" He's desperate. He's not ready to give this up. "We don't have to tell anyone," he pleads, looking at Harrison. "Just like we haven't so far." It's useless, and he knows it. Harrison shakes his head, not meeting Vincent's eyes.

"You know we can't," Harrison says, as a matter of fact. "I mean– you have a _wife_!" His voice cracks, and so does his expression. Vincent can tell that he's fighting against tears. "Does she know?" Vincent looks down. "Does she?" Harrison insists. Vincent shakes his head in defeat.

"See, this is what I mean!" Harrison gets up,   
the legs of his chair scraping the floor. Vincent flinches. "I can't be who I am without being judged! I–" he swallows– "I love you so goddamn _much_ but I'm– I'm not _allowed_ to! It's–" he inhales, closing his eyes. "It's forbidden, somehow, and it's not even my _fault_! I wouldn't have had to think about this if you hadn't come along! It's all your fault," he says, then composes himself with a couple of deep breaths. "It's all your fault," he repeats, voice faltering.

Vincent sighs shakily, keeping his eyes on his cup of coffee. "That's not fair," he mutters. "You can't blame me." Harrison's head drops.

"I know," he says. "I know I can't." He approaches Vincent, kneeling on the floor beside Vincent's chair, taking Vincent's hands in his. He rests his forehead against their hands, whispering softly. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I really am."

Vincent shakes his head in defeat. "You don't have to be. We can make this right, my love, I promise." He inhales. "I'm with you. I'll– I'll divorce my wife, just please don't–" his voice fades – "please don't go."

Harrison looks up at him, tears pooling in his beautiful blue eyes. "I have to," he manages to say. He gets up, slowly backing away. He puts his hand on the doorknob. "Goodbye, Vincent." His voice is barely audible as he shuts the door and steps into the staircase, gone. For good.


End file.
